


Three On A Match

by hellhoundsprey



Series: fascinus!verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aromantic Dean, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Stoner Castiel, Team Everyone Switches, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7787371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original prompt: swessontiel (Sam Wesson/Dean Smith/Endverse! Cas) where they're out at a bar and Dean is really fascinated by this scruffy blue eyed guy down a few stools and Sam notices so he goes over and invites the man to drink with them.</p><p>This was supposed to become part of the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/478657">ficlet prompts</a> series but turned into something... more. (Title idea by the lovely <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/silver9mm/pseuds/silver9mm">silver9mm</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three On A Match

Sam is so good at this stuff. Dean can only cower and peel at peanut crumbs while he waits. Sees Sam flashing one of those handsome smiles he keeps tucked behind his uniform most of the time Dean gets to see him. It’s “date” night. “Drinking” night. “Bar” night.

Apparently “picking up strangers” night.

Okay. Deep breath. Here they come.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

Dean wants to _drown_ in those eyes. “Uh, hi. It’s Dean,” Dean supplies together with a too formal handshake.

“Yeah, I know,” smiles the stranger. Looks older from up close, but maybe that’s just the beard talking. The stranger reaches behind and to his left to curl his arm around Sam’s hips and tugs him against his side. “And this is Sam.”

Sam smiles like a child on Christmas Morning even though it was Dean who started staring at the guy. Had then been Sam’s idea to walk over and ask him if he wanted to have a drink with them – or whatever it was Sam told him. Too loud, too far away for Dean to hear a thing. Something in Dean calls Code Red when Sam’s hand flirts itself over the stranger’s shoulders like they’ve known each other for ages already (such great social skills; looks so easy when he does it) and Dean would be jealous if Sam and him were in fact dating.

But Sam smiles, smiles as sweet and dimpled as if he was asking Dean (again) if he needed help with his printer (again) and if he would like Sam to “see what the problem might be, sir” (again), and Dean knows the guy under his arm is a mere present. (Look what the cat dragged in.)

“This is Cas.”

Cas. Dean rolls it over his tongue like a toffee.

Cas (Cas, Cas) brings Dean’s drink to his lips, cocks his eyebrows. He looks like trouble; like the kind of kid your parents didn’t want to see you with. To be honest: deep in his heart, Dean had always wanted to be a rebel.

“So,” drawls Cas (Cas, Cas), “I heard we were drinking?”

~

It’s fucking cold outside. Dean can see two pairs of nipples straining for whatever, and that’s a good enough excuse to stand here all uselessly while his company busy themselves with smoking. Pretty sure Sam only does it out of boredom or intoxication or courtesy or all three, in order to not let Cas feel left out. Cas, though, tucks a self-rolled beauty between his lips instead of plucking it out of some branded box. Lights it just as carefree as if it was legal. Dean wills his eyes not to pop out of his neaty-white-ass skull.

Could stare at the ground instead. Anywhere else but Cas’ mouth, slender fingers, lidded eyes. Fucking obscene nipple action going on (did he even _bring_ a jacket in the first place?), even worse than Sam who at least threw on what probably used to be a decent leather jacket a decade ago. Doesn’t do anything about his too-tight jeans (a dozen dress code violations right there). Dean’d whoop his ass if Sam showed up to work like that.

(Sam is a good kid, though; always. Always on time. Always a sweet word for the coworkers, best customer reviews of the entire department. Likes Dean to slap him barehanded though, on occasion, as if he was a bad boy who deserves it. Sam has no shame about crying. Dean envies that.)

It’s a good night so far. No mayor embarrassments so far. Dean is mildly drunk, Sam a few drinks ahead and just about to get started (kids these days), and Cas, well. The guy had downed just as much as Sam without flinching. Hasn’t truly faltered in his expression or body language.

Cas expels smoke sideways through his mouth as he holds the johnny out towards Dean who shakes his head politely. Same goes with Sam who says, “Nah, I’m good.” Cas shrugs and takes another deep hit. Goosebumps and sweat. Dean wants to get his tongue on that skin.

The bar noises sweep over them whenever the doors fly open. People come and go. Some spare a look to the odd three men on the sidewalk but nobody feels like talking to them. They seem comfortable in their shared silence.

It’s been one fucking long, fucking exhausting week. Too many meetings, too many espressos. Dean Smith has his hands fisted in his pockets and tugs his shoulders higher up to his freezing-red ears. It’s the first time for Sam and him to spend time outside of SB&I or the privacy of one of their bedrooms. Maybe picking up someone additional this early was a mistake; rude. Maybe this is going too fast. Despite those worries, Sam looks contended. Could have said “no”. Could have said “ain’t one cock enough for you?” But Sam had played along. Still does. Still is. Fucking handsome in those jeans. Fucker.

As how desperate would Dean out himself as right now if he started hinting to take this elsewhere?

It’s not even midnight yet. Pathetic. Stupid.

“Oh,” Cas suddenly gasps. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Forgot to feed Momo. Fuck.” Cas groans as he wipes his palm across his face. His voice is so low he could be talking to himself. “He’s gonna try to eat Victoria again. I just know it.”

Dean hopes he isn’t the only one staring rather confusedly. “Your... What? _Who_?”

“My iguana,” replies Cas, all matter-of-fact and sucking on his joint yet again.

“Your... iguana,” repeats Dean.

“His _iguana_ , Dean,” snickers Sam, completely taunting him in his puzzledness. Ass.

“Iguanas make excellent pets. Very clean.” Hissing inhale. Lazy eyes, dragging from Sam to Dean and back. Cas holds as much smoke as possible in his lungs while speaking extra tightly. “He’s a good boy, usually, leaves the plants alone an’ all. If his stupid daddy remembers feeding him.”

“Ah,” supplies Dean flatly.

Cas frowns to himself and the moonless night. “I’m not a very good daddy.”

Now that one was just on purpose.

“You wanna go check on him? We could come along.”

Dean’s heart throbs. Smooth, Sam, fucking smooth.

“Nah. Victoria will live. ‘Sides, you guys’ll wake the birds. They’re sensitive to strangers, y’know. My neighbors hate me enough as it is.”

“Oh,” Sam says. In the corner of his eye, Dean sees him shrugging, nursing on the last inch of his smoke.

Earlier, back in the bar, Cas had needed one question to warm up (“What are you guys drinking? Lager?”) before eyeing them intensely, just like he is right now. Damn invitation. Eating them alive. God, Dean _needs_ to get laid.

“Which one of you lives closest to here?”

Fucking finally.

~

The streets are alive and they are just another small drop in the crowd. Cas is snug in their middle, one hand on one globe of ass to each side. Sam’s hand knocks against Dean’s shoulder with every step they take with his arm curled over Cas’ shoulders (as if Sam needed the support). All Dean can console himself with is that even if someone from work saw them ( _him_ ) right now, they’d see Dean’s hands all neat in his own pockets. Not gay at all. Shut up.

Why are they even _walking_? Dean cannot remember. Maybe is more drunk than he had anticipated. Feels good though. Warm, finally, with Cas’ body heat bleeding into him furnace-like. Dean can’t wait to get his mouth on what hopefully is a substantial dick. Cas’ loose-fit pants are anything but telling. That’s okay. If anything else fails, he still has his Sammy.

Cas seizes the opportunity to squeeze their asses while Sam struggles to hold the keys steady. “Nice,” he decides, drags his eyes up from Sam’s (absolutely _very_ nice) behind to let them rest on Dean, gives a wide, stoned smile. Dean flushes under the attention. Flushes more when Cas fondles his junk through his jeans. “Also nice.”

The door is finally open and they stumble inside; somehow. Cas is still fixed on Dean and Dean still holds up the eye contact. Confident, now that they’re alone, he sneaks his hand up Sam’s side, right up under the worn-down tee he had teased Sam for earlier. Cas’ hand is still on his cock.

“You guys prefer to top or bottom? You clean?”

“We switch,” Dean hears, “and yeah. But-“

“Yeah, sure sure, no worries. Sucking bare is okay though?”

“Fine by me.” Sam finally sounds like sex.

Dean swallows around his, “Yeah,” and flutters all over under Cas’ hand ( _because_ of). Flutters some more when Sam presses up against him from behind; one warm, solid wall to urge him closer to their guest. Feels Sam’s muscles work as he takes off his jacket. Sighs and finally, finally goes to grab two handfuls of stoner ass. (Dean’s more of the closet type. Can’t do that shit in public like others (Sam).) Sighs again, because, wow. _Wow_.

Cas snickers and welcomes being pulled in by nuzzling Dean’s neck, makes him groan low, roll his hips against that palm. Jesus. And Cas isn’t even kissing him yet.

“Looks like this pretty boy hasn’t properly been looked after by his boyfriend.”

While Dean is barely able to scrape himself together to shake his head, Sam helps out with an almost not sad, “I’m not his boyfriend.” Hands untuck Dean’s button-down from his jeans. “And, yeah, not really my fault. He’s been kinda busy.”

Cas is so fucking close he’s bathing in Dean’s expensive aftershave and in turn makes Dean smell like that one spot behind the high school bleachers. (Student council president Smith used to tattle to the teachers and ‘confiscate‘ the sinful substances. Heh. Idiots.) “Hm.” One flick of a tongue has Dean tensing. Sam tucks him back, tight. “Your hot not-boyfriend ever bends you over the copy machine, pretty boy?”

Oh god. “’S usually me who bends at work,” explains Sam, unholy hands roaming over Dean’s heated belly, popping a button here and there if he feels like it.

“Mh, boss all over.”

“Nah. ’S more ‘cause he can’t keep it together with a cock up his ass.”

Cas does some sort of laugh-growl that sounds so offensive and pornographic at the same time that Dean thinks he could come on nothing but that, played in an one hour loop.

Fuck. Fuckfuck _fuck_.

They’re moving now, somehow. They’re usually at Dean’s, but Dean thinks he recognizes the route to Sam’s bedroom. Sam’s flat is so fucking small. The guy does his laundry in the _shared_ _basement_ , for god’s sake. Dean likes spoiling his boy with filet mignon and Egyptian cotton bedspreads whenever he has the chance. Not that Dean is complaining – after all, Sam’s flat is all _Sam_ , in and out. Smells like him. Could fucking swear it tastes like him, too (don’t ask). Dean blinks his eyes open just enough to spot a stain he had put on the sheets three fucking weeks ago, and oh god, Sam is so filthy and irresponsible and Dean is the closest to love he’ll ever get.

“Your boss suck a mean dick, Sam?”

Dean can fucking sense Sam’s wide, wide smirk. “That mouth doesn’t only _look_ pretty.”

It’s not like they needed to but they still push him down to his knees with joined forces where Dean falls himself, jaw already dropping, so fucking ready. Gets goosebumps for the tight clutch of Sam’s hands around his skull, tipping him up. Hands in his lap, heels of shoes digging into his own glutes and Sam’s hard-on prominent against the back of his head – waiting. Dean Smith is a good boy.

“He loves it,” hums Cas; obviously pleased. Dean watches pot-heavy fingers fumbling with the drawstring of his ecologically and socially correct pants. Fucking mouth-watering, even without the distant petting of two entirely different hands to his head. And yeah. Dean does. Loves it just as much as them talking about him as if he wasn’t here. No Qigong class can make Dean unfold like this.

Sam hisses, “Fuckin’ cockslut,” just as Cas’ cock springs free with lack of underwear (could have guessed), smacks Dean right across his gasping fifty dollar facial face. “Teased me for two goddamn months. Can you believe that? He can be such a _bitch_.”

Ah. Most painful two months of Dean’s goddamn life... but so worth it. Nothing quite like a desperate hate fuck in the storeroom.

“He’s insulting, really.”

Dean gets his lips glazed with precome, puckers up, gazes up all blown out and pretty, but Cas isn’t even watching him anymore – tongue-first in Sam’s mouth, cockhead-first in Dean’s. Sounds fucking filthy up there, but Dean can’t crane his neck that high, flicks his tongue instead. Cas tastes like the last few inches of a meter spelling “barely sanitary enough” (at least he’s cut) and that shouldn’t be hot, really shouldn’t, but maybe Dean has become more tolerant through Sam. Dean opens his mouth and closes his eyes as Cas feeds him his dick straight across his tongue. Dean hums his adoration through his mouthful. Burning up, salty-sweaty-heavy, such a pleasant weight and girth. Dean’s breath stutters at the sensation of barbells piercing through silken skin. That’s... new. He guesses he can live with it. Yeah, no – Cas’ dick is fucking _perfect_.

Cas’ hips hitch already, even before Sam whispers, “He can take more,” and pulls him closer, shoves him so much deeper like it’s nothing. (Dean used to call a gag reflex his own before Sam Wesson started working for Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc.) Cas sounds fucking broken when he dislodges from Sam’s mouth, mutters trippy _fuckfuckfuck_ ’s with Dean’s nosed smashed up against his pelvis. Dean looks up then, almost laughs; barely manages a smile. Dean Smith has qualities he cannot list on his resume.

The hands in his hair fuck Dean on Cas’ cock. He had told the hairdresser to keep it a little longer this time since Sam is always so handsy and, yeah, Dean likes to spoil him, shut up. It’s not like it doesn’t tickle all the right spots in Dean’s sometimes-not-so-bossy brain. And having it done to him on someone _else_? An entire different level altogether.

Dean doesn’t know what, if not this, he had expected to happen. Hadn’t had much time to expect _anything_ , really. All he remembers is throwing some longing stares across the bar, Sam lifting one of his handsome eyebrows, following Dean’s line of sight, pointing at Cas. Asking, “That one? Seriously?” (And yeah, Cas is not his type at all but something had _clicked_ when he saw him, so what? You can’t control that shit.) It’s a feverish, boner-dominated blur from there. Still fucking is.

God. He wonders if they’d let him shimmy out of his jeans if he’d try to.

Cas’ breath hitches at every drag, each hint of teeth along his pierced frenulum. “You guys do it a lot? At work?” Fumbling behind Dean’s back. Clinking of belt buckle. Shit. Fucking get it, Cas.

“Depends.” Sam sounds like he’s the one down Dean’s throat. “Twice a week maybe.”

“Hm, responsible.”

“Torture,” corrects Sam. That fly is still closed, still digs into the back of Dean’s head. Cas’ arms are there though, seizing, working. Maybe got his hands down the back of Sam’s jeans, gropes his ass. Dean sympathizes with that. Maybe rubs dry at Sam’s hole, judging by the wavering rhythm on Dean’s head.

“Not enough?”

“Never,” breathes Sam.

The two kiss again and Dean goes gooey-pliant when Sam presses him all the way down Cas’ metal-decorated cock and holds him there; hands like wrenches. Dean trusts, doesn’t fight. Lets happen. Allows. Seems almost a little too late when Sam pulls him off – stars in front of Dean’s eyes, gurgling breath, coughing and spit, spit, spit. Cas curses and whips his dripping cock over Dean’s only very slightly purplish lips.

“Okay. So... Here’s what I wanna do.”

Dean listens with half an ear and hopes Sam is more present; then surprisingly gets hauled to his feet. He stares at Cas who licks his kiss-wet mouth, eyes half lidded to wide and blue in the blink of an eye. Goddamn gorgeous.

A hint of chin towards Sam. “You’re gonna fuck me.” A hint of chin towards Dean. “And then _you’re_ gonna fuck me.”

“You might wanna switch that order, buddy.”

“Uh-huh. Gotta work you open first,” grins Sam. “I’m a big guy.”

“You don’t say.”

“All over.”

“He’s not lying.”

“Hmmm, not gonna lie either: I might have been counting on that.”

“Oh? Heh.”

“Slut.”

Cas’ pants fall completely so that Dean can step his foot down on them where they pool around Cas’ ankles. In turn, Dean puts both hands on his ass. Would look darling in shuddering red. Cas looks at his hosts like he is about to scam them for their entire savings and then goes from shit-eating to innocent, just like that. All air in the tiny crammed room is shifting, now that everyone has a vague role. It’s good. Fucking, gloriously good.

“You’re just gonna stand there and look pretty, boss?”

Dean smirks for the sass. “Oh, I can do lotsa things all while looking this pretty.”

He bends his knees and hauls Cas up in his arms, gives enough momentum for the guy to wrap his legs around his waist. It has the desired effect alright (a stunned, wide-eyed excitement under all that pot) but it’s a blessing that the bed is right in front of Dean. He sinks down (doesn’t throw), trembles with the exertion but Sam’s got his back, eases them into his private beddings. The view he gets from behind must be worth it – Cas’ legs spread, bare; and Dean knows his own ass looks fucking nice in these jeans (sticks it out just a little more for added effect).

Sputtered laughter behind them. “Is that a fucking Road Runner tattoo next to your balls? Oh my fucking god.“

Dean immediately checks, and yes, yes, that is Road Runner alright. He hears Cas snickering, “Hey, we’ve all been young and foolish once,“ over the laughter he joins in to Sam’s.

This close (close enough to kiss), Cas looks definitely older than Dean. They hadn’t even asked. Suits him, though. Gorgeous. Dean’s eyes flicker from one beautiful spot to the next. Dean tastes the joint on Cas’ breath, the cheap beer; tastes Sam once he licks inside. Cas honest to god shudders underneath him. Probably tastes himself on Dean’s teeth.

It’s a miracle that nobody gets an elbow into their face but in the tangled mess of three sets of limbs, everyone eventually rids themselves of most of their clothes. Sam still seems stuck in his jeans though, and Dean’s sock won’t part from his calf until Sam is benevolent enough to pull it off with a tug powerful enough to knock Dean off his knee. Sam laughs and Cas joins in. Dean flushes and shuts down the one pinned underneath him with his mouth. When he finds a nipple, he pinches it meaner than necessary, and Cas might gasp at that but doesn’t hesitate one single second to return the gesture.

Dean yelps into Cas’ mouth, feels his dick bob between their bellies.

“Careful,” Sam hums, one hand roaming up Dean’s upper thigh, up to grope his ass. “He’s sensitive.”

Cas says, “Oh,” but tugs only scarcely less vigorously.

Dean growls, “You little shit,” and both of them snicker at that.

Two of Dean’s fingers have teased into Cas’ ass by now, but that doesn’t seem stop the man from continuously fondling him. Like, at _all_. Feels like getting his dick milked through his tits. Dean is sweating and blinking uselessly and wishes Sam wasn’t so fucking right about the sensitivity issue. Sam is lying next to them, observing, stroking himself through his jeans. A small eye contact between him and Dean and Sam decides to show some mercy, plucks one of Cas’ hands from Dean’s chest to press it down on his crotch.

“Fuck.” Dean can fucking feel Cas throbbing on his fingers.

“Told you.” Sounds like velvet and extra-long lunchbreak. Purr of zipper; Dean _has_ to watch. “Wanna get it out for me?”

Cas nods rather dumbly and peels for the prize between this one single layer of denim. Once it’s done, Dean and him both lick their suddenly way too dry lips at the sight. (Sam calls it “fag reflex” and should be beaten harder for it than Dean’s motherly heart will let him.)

Again, there’s Sam’s entirely too pleased, “Told you.”

It gets quiet after that with everyone watching or touching each other. The drinks are showing now, and Cas’ smoking, too. Dean runs his fingers across the tattoos on his ribs, can’t make out a letter that looks familiar but doesn’t ask either. Cas sighs when Dean fingers him just right. So soft and open, giving. His hand flinches where it’s still wrapped around Sam’s cock. It’s a slow, dragging rhythm just like Sam likes it when it’s not urgent. Dean doesn’t know if it’s urgent for him yet. If he didn’t complain to go second, he should be okay, right?

This isn’t the first threesome for any of them (obviously). The first one for Dean in... god, he forgets. Definitely since San Francisco, and that was... wow, five whole years ago. He’s getting old. But he’s still got it, apparently. Two cute guys in his bed. Well, not _his_ , but… you get the idea.

He watches Cas cock jerking for nothing (the best compliment). It leaves wet kisses in its wake, clumps up Cas’ treasure trail. Cas mumbles something incoherent, blinks up at Sam. Dean shoves in to the knuckles and crooks while Sam and Cas rearrange so Sam can fit his cock between Cas’ lips. Sam’s hands look good in Cas’ hair. Dean feels cradled right along at the sight.

It earns him attention when Dean brings his free hand to brush along Sam’s still jeans-clad thigh.

“Babe,” Dean hums. “Where are...?”

“Oh. Uhm, second from the top.”

Fingersnap, grateful smile. “Got it.” It’s fucking cheesy like Dean’s entire personality, but it never fails to get him one of those adorable little smiles from Sam.

Dean stretches for the nightstand, fumbles through an assortment of toys before he gets to the condoms, the greasy bottle of lube. He bites back a comment for the sake of overall arousal of the situation, but damn, kid. They’re gonna have to have a serious talk one of these days.

Back in action, Dean sits back on his haunches to watch the show in front of him. They look good together. Doesn’t seem like Cas is actually trying to get down on Sam’s cock just yet, only suckles, but yeah, no, really fucking hot anyway. Everything looks so small in comparison with Sam’s dick. Dean tries not to feel intimidated while he strokes his own. ‘S not like he’s small by any means, of course, but... still. Still.

Condomed and lubed, check. Kissing his way up Cas’ belly and chest, check. Kissing on and around the strain of Cas’ lips around Sam’s cock, check. Smirks for Sam’s fluttering lashes. Thumbs Cas’ cock for his excited sort-of-whimper. God, the guy’s noisy. Maybe it’s the drugs. Maybe not important.

Cas seizes and groans when Dean starts to push in, mouth and one hand still on Sam, the other blindly reaching for Dean’s thigh. If Sam is watching, he does it in silence. Again, the energy shifts. Dean closes his eyes, lets his head hang between his hunched shoulders, arms carrying all his weight, straining. Had been hot on his fingers already, but it’s different, more undefinable when it’s his cock that’s being engulfed.

The entire room seems to take a sigh once he’s fully seated. Dean grinds a little for effect, for those happy noises he always gives Sam shit for when he does them but leaves uncommented and just as welcomed for Cas. A touch to his cheek makes Dean blink alive, look up to see Sam leaning in, cock still buried in Cas’ mouth. Dean closes his eyes again for the kiss. Always so fucking tender with his mouth, this kid. Dean can feel his lashes dragging over his cheek along with his fingers and leans in for more. Shudders when Cas bears down around his cock. Allows his eyes to roll behind the lids. Fuck. This week has been _way_ too long.

Sue him, but Dean doesn’t waste much more time. If Cas is opposed to anything, he can speak up; doesn’t argue for now and lets Dean do his thing. Pushes his legs up and apart some more when Dean starts to paw at his thighs. God, he’s muscled. Dean digs his fingers in deeper for good measure. Everything can be a love handle if you’ve got the right attitude.

Sam still has his hand on Dean’s face. “Good?” Dean grunts his approval, so Sam pets Cas’ hair. “Fucking hot,” he croaks. “Both’a you.” Again, he kisses Dean.

“Eager for your turn yet?”

Sam nods, chews on his lip. Sucking noises announce that Cas is getting more serious. Sam is adorable when he’s trembling against Dean’s mouth like that. “Wanna fuck you, too. Later. Yeah?”

Shit. Ah, there go Dean’s knees. “Uh, Sam...”

“Fuck, please. Gotta see that. Please?” Pretty sure Sam hasn’t fucked past Cas’ tonsils yet, but the guy already sounds hoarse from it. Looks fucking pretty, all rustling sheets and squeaky-cheap mattress, blown-black eyes, subconscious frown. Hand still fisted tight around Sam’s beautiful, beautiful dick. Dean kisses it first, Cas’ mouth later, then Sam’s. The nape of Sam’s neck is perfect to bury his face in. Sweaty as fuck, always, but Dean can shower later. It’ll be just fine.

~

Trotting past the kitchenette on his way back to the bedroom, Dean gets a minor heart attack when he catches a glimpse of the clock – it’s four fucking AM in the morning. He could have sworn they haven’t been at it for more than an hour. He groans. Shouldn’t have agreed on that supervision for today, ten AM.

Well. Too late now.

His efforts to towel his hair die off at the image of Sam and Cas in Sam’s bed, still naked, still lacking a shower, smoking in Sam’s tiny non-smoking apartment. Cas looks positively destroyed, hair poking everywhere, smiling around his joint. Shadows under his eyes up to here, but he manages to reach one arm out and gesture for Dean. “Come back to bed, pretty boy.”

“You guys‘re _nasty_ ,” growls Dean, but, yeah, climbs back in. They pull him in the middle and it really reeks of sex here, of pot and ashes and, “Hey, I was thinking. Maybe I should head home.”

“No,” purrs Sam, face rubbing into Dean’s neck, “stay.”

“But I really should-“

“Stay.”

“Yeah, c’mon, relax.” Cas runs his hand up Dean’s arm, cups his cheek to kiss him just as softly as Sam does it from behind. Dean can feel him smile against his lips. “I didn’t leave my babies all by themselves, _unannounced_ , I may add, for you to bail on my ass now.”

Dean allows them to kiss him into melting. As he sinks lower into the pillows (yuck), all he can think of is how tired he is. How sore his ass is. How fucking soft Cas’ beard is. He groans, long and low.

“That’s a boy,” Sam praises. Damn fucking fingers. Dean hadn’t even heard the bottle of lube clicking open.

“Guys, no.” A weak protest, he knows, but it feels even weaker with Cas‘ thumbs ghosting over his nipples, Sam’s fingers rubbing into the ache of his asshole. “I’m beat. C’mon. Let me…” Dean lets his head loll. Shouldn’t be possible to feel that good despite being this exhausted. Wow. Yeah, _that_. God. Sam’s fingers shouldn’t be real. “Ugh.” Dean’s knee hitches upwards to give them more workspace.

Cas takes a last hit before he carefully places the roach on top of the headboard. Expels the smoke. Shuffles down Dean’s body to mouth at his collar bone. Gets a hand around a spent but apparently recovering cock.

“Lie back. Relax. Enjoy the ride.”

Dean will _so_ have to cancel his Krav Maga class.

~

Seven AM. Or eight. Or whatever.

After snoring for a while, Sam now absently traces the lines of Cas’ tattoos, cheek smushed on top of Cas’ chest. Dean has turned around, feet next to Cas’ head. He tells himself it’s slightly less furnace-y this way. Arms crossed behind his head, he stares at the ominous spot on the ceiling. Water damage from god knows when. Sam should get it checked for mold.

Cas is smoking again. The heavy smell has changed from suffocating to mildly inconvenient to actually quite okay. Dean hasn’t touched pot since college. Damn long time ago. He could ask if Cas ever went to college but doesn’t (has a feeling the answer is obvious).

A cab ride from Sam’s to Dean’s takes about half an hour; one during rush hours. Another twenty to Sandover. If he left now, he’d maybe have enough time to scrub all the stench from his body prior to sitting in a room stuffed full of his bosses and bosses’ bosses for six hours. Maybe.

Maybe just another five minutes.

He rolls onto his side. Notices a stray toe ring on Cas. This guy is just weird… from head to toe. Literally.

The world is very quiet. Dean isn’t used to that. Could sleep for a month. Has the weird urge to rub his face against Cas’ hairy shins.

If Cas does this often? Hooking up with strangers? Following them, trusting them this easily?

Will he be at that bar again next weekend, waiting, leaving with someone else?

Both Dean and the bed groan dangerously as Dean crawls up to the headboard, under Cas’ awaitingly raised arm. Cas’ chuckle vibrates under Dean’s cheekbone, must do the same to Sam’s. Sam’s smiling with his eyes closed and smiles a little more when Dean interlaces their fingers on Cas’ belly. Such a sap.

So so quiet. Nothing but their breathing (off-key), Cas’ smoking. That faint bristling sound when he makes the cherry gleam red on the inhales. Busy main street in front of Sam’s crappy apartment block; shaking of the subway lines running underneath them. There’s a day outside, somewhere, and Dean’s brain is unwilling to accept that just yet.

Time ticks by. Later and later and later. Dean’s eyes fall closed eventually, keep him drifting between the warmth of two bodies and barely lukewarm slumber.

The scent of coffee wakes him completely; Cas’ body flopping down between Sam and him does the rest. Dean grunts, glares, recognizes one of Sam’s second or third hand band t-shirts on Cas. Way too big for him. Too old for shit like that. Shouldn’t be looking so goddamn cute. (Dean couldn’t pull that off.)

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“What I wanted to ask, actually…”

“Yes?”

“… Who the fuck is Victoria?”

Cas sips from Sam’s ugly-ass ‘World Cup 2004’ cup. “My philodendron hederaceum.”

Waiting silence.

“It’s a _plant_ , you barbarians.”

“I _knew_ that,” murmurs Dean, gets an elbow and a knee for that which don’t belong to the same person. He thinks.

He really should be getting up sometime around soon.

Circa. Maybe.


End file.
